


war paint

by emptyswimmingpools



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Nail Polish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyswimmingpools/pseuds/emptyswimmingpools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he reached a hand upwards to rake lightly through his bed-ruined hair, he caught sight of the chipped colour painted on his nails from the other day; a bittersweet sigh escaped his parted lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	war paint

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot of feelings about this pairing, so naturally, i wrote a tiny lil fic on them, set just after connor first leaves for la.

It was early — a good thirty minutes or so more than usual — when Jude woke up that morning. The light came through the window and into his eyes unwantedly, leaving him wishing he hadn’t awoken. Trying not to make too much noise, he shuffled quietly out of bed and moved promptly into the dark bathroom, turning on the light as he entered the room.

Jude stood opposite the mirror, examining the hollow look in his eyes and the way he seemed to have a much sadder aura about him since being left alone once more.

OK, so perhaps that was a harsh way of putting it. Jude understood why Connor left — he truly did — but that didn’t aid the fact that it _hurt_. There was a sort of dull ache ingrained within him, filling the hole Connor left behind at his absence. School had been hard without him, and though Jude tried desperately not to be selfish, he couldn’t help but let this get the better of him sometimes.

He glanced back up at the mirror, eyes trained on his reflection. As he reached a hand upwards to rake lightly through his bed-ruined hair and tame it at least vaguely, he caught sight of the chipped colour painted on his nails from the other day; a bittersweet sigh escaped his parted lips.

The memory of him sat at the hospital with Connor came to his mind. (“What’s this?” Connor had asked him simply, his hand holding Jude’s delicately. Jude had stifled a smile as he replied, “War paint.”) And then, in turn, came the memory of Connor wearing the nail polish for him, too, to stand up for the _idiots_ who had judged Jude for it.

Jude likely could’ve used some ‘war paint’ to get him through the day without his boyfriend, but it felt almost _wrong_ without the now-shorter boy by his side. With another sigh and a sinking feeling in his chest, Jude grabbed the nail polish remover, unscrewing the top off as he failed to shake the thought of Connor away from his mind.


End file.
